


Legend Has IT

by clownsxclowns



Series: Drabbles / Tumblr Requests [4]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: 2017 Pennywise, Based on a Tumblr Post, Biting, Body Horror, Choking, Clowns, Dirty Talk, Dominant Pennywise (IT), Dubious Consent, F/M, Gloves, Hands, I'm Going to Hell, It's pennywise for goodness sake, Monster Hunters, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pennywise (IT) Being an Asshole, Scratching, Smut, Spit Kink, Tentacles, Violence, Y'all know theres gonna be drool, literally pure smut, y'all are going to hell with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 17:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clownsxclowns/pseuds/clownsxclowns
Summary: Based on a Tumblr prompt which had the reader sneaking into Pennywise’s abode dressed up as him for Halloween:“W-what ar-are you?” You stuttered.“W-what ar-are you?” He mocked, his face screwed up in false fear. His hands shot up into the air, shaking and accompanied by the ring of his small bells.“You filthy, foolish, little girl,”“I am the eater of worlds,” the voice that had taken over was not the voice you were so used to hearing, the typical varying fluctuations were replaced by many. The sentence was roared, echoing throughout the house; the thousands of calls, of cries and screaming that had grotesquely exploded from his gaping maw, rocked you to your core.





	Legend Has IT

**Author's Note:**

> Sin. Yeet.

Legends were tricky things, especially the old ones. Overall, they were slippery; hard to prove, and even harder to dispel as belief was a contagious thing. Fear and faith kept them alive. 

Legends haunted towns, worming their way into civilisations, firmly establishing their hold long before inhabitants were conscious of it. They terrified the young and old alike, a vicious cycle that continued across generations; no one was safe from the insidious influence of the whispers. 

Legends, finally, never really die. Some festered, remaining dormant until discovered once more. While others morphed over time, merely tweaked; the substance - its meaning, the thing that left those in the night paralysed with fear, beads of tears and sweat dampening their pillows - remained the same. 

And boy, did Derry have some legends. 

One, in particular, had caught your interest. 

As often is the case, the origins of a myth were shaky. This instance was no different. Though, you knew at the very least it was a myth that had been circulating Derry for centuries.

Those unlucky enough to cross paths with the being of fable were never seen again, and on the rare occasion they survived, they were never quite the same. While they weren’t actively searching for the ancient being, it had found them. You had to be a certain amount of dumb to seek out something so dangerous. 

Luckily, with you being the perfect mix of said stupid, you decided it was a great idea to roam the horror house.

On Halloween night.

Alone.

If the alleged creature didn’t kill you, the house it lived in, would. Neibolt was a shithole and a half, that much was clear from its exterior. 

Who knew what horrors lay within? 

One of the peculiar things about Derry was that it was often arduous to get people to talk. And, while that was good for keeping secrets, or at least grouped unaddressed elephants, it was beyond painful to obtain any sort of information. Everything was taboo, even the little things; no one was willing to say anything unless you coaxed them, it didn’t matter the rising number of missing children, an event that occurred weekly. What mattered was peace, irrespective of the cost. 

Eventually, all you had as a reference to the creature you were seeking was a photograph. It was the best photo you had to mimic its costume. The snapshot depicted old Derry, the entity’s sinister smirk hidden towards the end of the frame, surrounded by others — men unaware of its portentous threat. 

As you approached the worn house, the darkness surrounding you deepened, the typical cries and laughter of children on Halloween faded behind slowly; almost as if you had entered another realm. Your hair was left out, the low quality, orange chalk that coated your hair rubbing off every time your fingers wove through it. When you noticed the build up, you wiped it on your silver costume furiously, the silk reflecting the streetlamp’s light on the rare instance it succeeded in stabilising its flickers. The aggressive action coincidentally matched the intensity of your fear - the terror that had already seized your heart, its barbed coils tearing into the organ as it constricted.

You were yet to enter and already you were a mess. 

The orange balls of fluff - pom poms - that invaded your view as you looked to the ground bounced with every movement. The ridiculous intricacies of your costume were the last thing you saw of the outside world before you released a string of anxious curses, travelling inside. 

You turned the doorknob, something you were still surprised was still there. The door was old, worn and most likely termite infested, and it emitted a groan as you dragged it open. Your feet took over, moving in front of you on autopilot. 

With each step, there was a creak in the decaying floorboards. The open space you advanced into was musty, the smell hitting you immediately, and in a rancid, special concoction, the stench was complemented by the smell of mould. But, it was only when you truly honed in on the smell, that there was the lingering of something else; it was vile and evil, emanating death and rotten flesh. 

Inhuman. 

When you switched on the flashlight you had brought, the length of its cool, cylindrical body embraced securely in your hand, you could see the dust floating around, their dancing bodies hovering in front of the beams. With light as your guide through the decrepit wooden shambles, it was not difficult to spot the shimmering, thin linkages - webs - which coated every available surface. Whether they originated from dust or spiders, or perhaps a mixture of both, you didn’t know, though the former was more favourable and slightly less terrifying. 

“Well, well, well,” a voice rang throughout the room — or inside your head — it was hard to tell with the overbearing voice that was thick and growling, almost animalistic and hardly human. The foul reek, one that denoted malevolence and oppression all wrapped into one, suppurated; the words echoed with seemingly no source, and you were compelled to look around wildly, stunned. It snatched a jerk from you, one that propelled your trembling legs backwards. 

Dread.

This was a bad idea. 

“Is this an attempt at mockery?” The voice teased, its laughter spilling between words, hardly infectious. 

Out of the hundreds of thousands - perhaps millions - of words that compiled the English language, there was only one that could truly convey how you felt.

Small. 

“Is this a form of protessst?” It hissed, ejecting the words out with poison. 

There was a noise that followed, loud and drawn out; distinctive and easy to identify without thinking about it. 

An inhale. 

The noise was local - right next to you, and it repeated itself, sniffing like a dog. 

It was so close to your ear and you swore you could feel your hair move, the delicate strands swaying against your cheek just the right amount to make you question whether it was just your overactive imagination…or something else. 

But nothing was in the room with you.

Then, you were positively certain your hair moved with an even stronger exhale. It brushed against your face, your eyes screwing shut as you let out a scream. Stumbling backwards, onto the floor with a thud, the moans of the floorboards beneath you signified their unsteady shifts. The dust which had once laid upon the decaying timber was disturbed. They formed large, bloated clouds in front of you, swirling as they wafted. It was difficult to keep yourself from inhaling the particles with your ragged respire. 

Nothing else happened for a while, and you sat there counting the minutes. Your flashlight, which you hadn’t stopped flickering around the room, was similar to the wild seeking of your eyes. When nothing popped out, wanting to tear your head off from the base of your neck, a flickering thought led you to believe you had imagined the whole thing yourself. 

It was Halloween after all. 

Maybe you were the dumbest person in the world when you decided to proceed, despite the turbulence of your entry. In truth, you wouldn’t have argued back if somehow had said so. You would have agreed. 

You palmed the floor, pushing yourself up from the newly dust-free area you had fallen to. The hands that had been shaking like a common piece of gelatine, had started to calm.

It was dead silent.

You walked into another room, noticing the neglected furniture along the way as you distanced yourself from the hallway. 

It was challenging to overlook the impressions on the walls, impressions you shortly identified as claw marks. The deep jagged lines decorated the wooden walls, as well as the furniture; the familiar spongey, yellowed foam spread out across the floor. The markings filled you with a strange excitement - provoking a schism between your drives. There was panic, but it was also rivalled with curiosity. An internal war. 

The thrill of discovering something that should not be, of something not intended to mix with human existence made the explorer within you twitch in anticipation. Conversely, your logical side wanted to haul ass, never to return to this place again. 

As you became acquainted with the new room you found yourself in, a room that failed to display anything different from the previous, with its decomposing structures and cobwebs - the main attraction - you’re unsuccessful from restraining the wandering of your eyes when your periphery caught a glimpse of vermillion. Vivid and intense, even in the darkness. 

With your eyes attempting to register the sight before them, they honed in on the stained mirror you had somehow shunned, flashlight directed toward the glass. Although mirrors were a neutral thing, a mere item with no feelings associated with the combination of glass and wood, within seconds that changed. 

You saw something in the mirror. 

The very thing you had come here for. 

And it was behind you.

Horror held you close as the prospect of the legend being true finally started to sink in. Instantly, you whipped your head back, an instinctual reflex you couldn’t stop. 

Nothing. 

Returning to the mirror, you saw it was still yet to move; the creature was invisible in all respects, like a spectre, except for the reflection which remained clear, despite the dirt the surface was coated in.

He towered over you, a giant compared to your significantly smaller form, devilish gleaming irises stared back at you through the glass. The left side of his mouth was pulled upwards into a smile. It was wicked and far from inviting as it stretched considerably, the scrunch of its nose simultaneous. The look on his face was practically a snarl as if disgusted by your presence; like you were a mere insect. 

He knew immediately when you spotted him. One of his white, pleated gloves shot into the air, the fingers curling into a small, slow wave.

You didn’t do anything, too afraid to even breathe. All you could do was stare.

The palm that had stiffened in alarm led to the release of the flashlight, its clamour signalling the fall of the tool. While the object rolled away in the background, your eyes adjusted to the dark just in time to watch the overwhelming visual of the creature lifting his nose in the air. His crimson painted nose twitched as his nostrils flared, sucking in the air around him, his actions too much to shift your attention from. 

“I can smell your fear,” he finally spoke, his voice elongated — a pattern you had, unfortunately, noticed. 

Drip.

Your hand immediately darted to your shoulder, the pads of your digits meeting with an unidentifiable substance, one that was sticky and warm. A whimper left your mouth when the liquid continued to fall without pattern. Your shaking hands then moved in front of your face, glassy eyes squinting to view the unknown ooze. Preoccupied with the goop on your form, a fluid you would identify later, you sensed movement. 

His hands abruptly wrapped around your throat from behind, twisting and securing its hold on your neck like a boa constrictor. His hands were large around your throat and in a flash, he’d flipped you around to face him, his form now manifested in the physical world. His eyes had fluctuated into a deep gold, speckled with red as he looked into your fear-stricken ones, the liquid that had fallen onto your shoulder continuing to spill from his mouth. 

“My, my, what a treat - oh yes!” He giggled, the jingle of his bells playing with each of his motions.

The attack was swift and harsh, and you choked on your gasp in shock. One minute you were standing, the next he’d forced you to the ground at preternatural speeds, back against the wall. Monstrous and hair raising, he stood over you, hands yet to free your suffocating, red-faced form. 

“A gift for ol’ Pennywise!” 

He dropped down to the floor in an almost puppet-like manner, as if the manipulator had relinquished their hold. He took advantage of your frozen state, his long, hot, dripping tongue lolling out of his mouth. Watching in horror was the only thing you could do as the tip of his organ wiggled its way to your face, a warm, long stripe licking its way upwards, across your cheek. It left a thick, sticky coat of saliva, one that took its time to drip from your assaulted face. 

You had tried your best to fight against his grip. Fists slammed against his chest with hollow thuds as they attempted to block his probing tongue from touching you. It was to no avail.

The beast was just too strong. 

“You thought your silly little costume would work? Would impress me? Make me spare you?” He glared, teeth bared.

“Oh no, no, no,” he disapproved, his pout protruding, “if you seek out death, it’s what you get in return, sweet." 

You tried your best to shake your head - anything - anything at all to dispute his words, but the repulsive feeling of its slime across your face was something that almost made you spill your guts. The gag that had built up in your throat forced your mouth open and the cryptid invaded your mouth, the movement quick while it plunged into you. As the pink muscle darted around the new, unfamiliar territory, it eventually found the back of your throat, passing your uvula, forcing you to choke again. Your body thrashed around in a pathetic endeavour to free yourself and your muffled sounds of despair only worked to please the being in front of you, his joy evident in his inhibited giggles. 

His spit was sweet - almost intoxicating and your vision became hazed. Your head was getting harder and harder to hold up, the black spots which began to overrun your vision worsened your state, your eyes starting to flutter shut. When he noticed this, he quickly retracted his tongue from your mouth altogether, slapping your cheek twice. A sadistic laugh followed. 

“Give in,” he said.

While the spots that clouded your vision began to clear, your delirious state remained. You slowly nodded at his words, unaware of what you were actually agreeing to. 

“Perhaps you’re of use to me, yet.” 

Every word that left his mouth was mocking and condescending, only adding to the inferiority you felt. His golden eyes radiated in the darkness as his nose tipped upwards, a cruel, sinful smile contorting his features. With that grin as your unsettling, predominant view, you couldn’t help but feel as though it would be your last. The sight ingrained into your memory forever, or at the very least, for many years to come (if you survived). 

You were only given a second to adjust in your drugged state as he bit into your neck, producing a flowing, deep sanguine stream. The scream you released was piercing and warm tears rolled down your cheeks, the needle-like teeth breaking into the skin. His lengthy saliva-coated muscle lapped up the excess blood and the sweet drool falling from the appendage trickled down your clavicle. In one violent swipe, he ripped the top half of your costume away, the dribble falling down your half naked form. It hadn’t been a clean job - not at all, his paws left scratches as more of your blood seeped from the gashes; desecrating your body. His markings were deep and bound to leave scars, the thick metallic essence which rushed out of them a treat he helped himself to. 

The intense pain your body was in was inexpressible. Dread was a powerful thing, an experience that embraced your entire being. No longer had you wished you pulled your little stunt. No longer had you wished you entered the home many had warned you about. No longer had you wished you messed with something that was way beyond you - way beyond what any human was capable of comprehending. 

But alas, it was too late.

This fact was bolstered when his hands flew to the back of your head, capturing you into another deadly kiss. It tore you from your thoughts and grounded you back into reality, a harrowingly torturous one. The demanding touch of another pair of hands made themselves known, fiddling with your exposed breasts. 

A jolt of confusion rode through you. Just like the hands at the back of your head, the new additions were covered in the silky material of his gloves. The sensation of the cool material across your nipple was shiver-inducing, a shudder you begrudgingly gave into as his thumb flicked over it. A mewl spilled from your mouth into his, and he repeated the action. 

“Sooo weak, so small, so afraid,” he tittered, pulling back, as he dragged out each word, pausing only to sniff at your neck, “so tasty.” 

He was right. You were terrified. 

While the voice of reason and logic cursed your shared existence, there was a part of you that was reacting inappropriately; a familiar deep burning which made itself home in the pit of your stomach; excitement. A spark of electricity speedily propagated throughout. No amount of self-loathing could stop the wetness pooling in your panties, nor the amount of shame.

He paused, eyes darkening.

It was multiple, lengthy seconds before he spoke, the tip of his nose burying itself into your neck once more, his ruffles brushing up against your naked chest as he pulled you close to him. You felt his inhales against your torso, they’re loud and they vibrate; primal.

Fuck. He knew.

He pulled away, face so close to yours, nose mere centimetres from your own.

“You don’t even know what you’re before, yet you stink of arousal,” he spat.

He was right, again. 

Your cheeks crimsoned at his blunt words, a surge of humiliation washing through you from the fact that you wanted to be taken by something so cruel and feral. Yet, so dominating and dangerous.

Nevertheless, the heat between your legs - something you had tried to ignore was starting to feel overwhelming. Your thighs pressed themselves together, providing the slightest bit of friction to the increasingly receptive area. 

Whether this was plain and simply your doing, or the remanence of the sickly sweet aftertaste left in your mouth, it was unclear. If it had been his doing, the sugary, cotton candy tasting salivation had foully rendered you an eager participant in his unknown, dark and equally as frightening intentions. 

In what you could only describe the spell you were under as similar to a drunk state of being, you brought your half lidded eyes to his face, trying your best to focus on his nose. The small task proved difficult when you struggled against the fluttering of your eyelids; heavy and weak they managed to sustain.

You tried your best to fight the influence.

“W-what ar-are you?” You stuttered.

“W-what ar-are you?” He mocked, his face screwed up in false fear. His hands shot up into the air, shaking and accompanied by the ring of his small bells.

“You filthy, foolish, little girl,” he said, his face had fallen shifting into something more serious. 

You were filthy. You felt it within - the struggle between the guilt and want, their horrifically commanding presence infiltrating every curve and crevice. 

The disgrace built up like breeding bacteria; a mating ground for the torturers of your conscious. 

It was as if he could read your mind. His golden orbs held a special knowledge to them and it was at that moment when you knew he knew everything. Your secrets. Your desires. Your fears. 

“I am the eater of worlds,” the voice that had taken over was not the voice you were so used to hearing, the typical varying fluctuations were replaced by many. The sentence was roared, echoing throughout the house; the thousands of calls, of cries and screaming that had grotesquely exploded from his gaping maw, rocked you to your core. 

Then, it released a gut-wrenching laugh at your petrified reaction. It held onto you tightly, while one glove slipped into your hair, softly weaving through the strands. The affection was different and something you would have hardly associated with the being before you, it was a nice change; a substitute that would allow your body to rest, even if it was for a second. For all you knew it was monitoring your thoughts, the eldritch horror that was in front of you way beyond anything you could comprehend; such invasive mind-probing powers were not that far fetched at this point. 

When he pulled your hair back, an action which left your wounded neck exposed, you were then almost 100% sure he was capable of observing your thoughts. 

The laryngeal prominence just barely protruded as the crown of your head rested against the wall, the position irreversible no matter how hard you thrashed. You were unable to see what he was doing, eyes only framing the higher end of his face, as well as what was above him. 

You felt it though. 

His other hand moved to your jugular and his fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the tender section.

Once.

Twice. 

Thrice.

You whimpered as his fingers occasionally stroked over fresh wounds, his shushing nowhere near the ranges of soothing. Although the strokes seemed delicate, loitering at your throat, it was no different to when he had woven his beastly hooks into your locks and so nastily feigned gentleness. The rumble that he emitted which was oddly mixed with laughter only fortified this; a ripping sound was heard, and for a second, you thought he had torn more of your costume, though it was promptly proven wrong when you caught a glimpse of the hand around your neck, making you gulp in suspense. The glove was torn, displaying ghastly black claws which dug into your skin. You’re unaware as to how much blood rushed out when he broke the skin, but you did feel the sting.

“P-Please,” you whined. 

As to what you were begging for, to be let go, or to end the teasing so he could brutally fuck you until you couldn’t walk, you didn’t want to say - or think for that matter. 

You failed in the latter case, anyway. 

“Pleaseee?” He questioned, waiting for your trembling form to admit to your carnal desire.

When he received nothing but the shutting of your eyes as a reply, refusing to look at him, he pressed into the wounds on your neck with a guttural gnarl, a punishment for your lack of response. His unforgiving and volatile nature had your hoarse voice howling in pain while your eyes snapped open into his blazing ones. 

“How would those who have raised you feel about your being, ravished?” 

“Your pretty little innocence taken away, hmmm?” He said as if the notion drove him wild.

Regardless of how obscene and mortifying his words are, they’re far from putting an end to your craving.

He paused, a hand darting to his chin, tapping it in thought while his other hand floated in front of him, leaving you alone for the moment. All his fingers were curled into his palm save for his pointer, which shot up. His mouth shifted into an ‘o’, the two wine red lines which trailed his face and connected with his lips, expanded, stretching as the skin compensated. 

“Innocence…?” He drawled, contemplating the singular word falsely. He hadn’t bothered to look at you during his charade, though when he finally did, the grin that captured his face was no longer; the sickeningly faked expression reverting to a glare.

Suddenly, he lowered himself between your legs and you watched him with a shaky gasp, a twisted hope which ignited the butterflies within. His nails removed the remaining bottom part of your costume, the shreds pushed aside before he dragged the points of his blackened nails across the meaty sensitive region of your upper thigh, tracing the flesh. Aggressive and impatient, he pushed your legs apart, holding them firmly as he nestled himself between your legs. 

“Or is that something you’ve never known?” His gaze bore into your own with a hungry desire, glowing in the darkness as it tore through you like a shredder, goosebumps raising your flesh.

He wasted no time discarding the obstructing materials, the cotton rags that were once your panties caught between his claws, tossed somewhere behind him to never be seen again. 

His tongue rolled out again, the tip flicking against your folds experimentally, exactly what you had, oh so deplorably yearned for. Your noises were cancelled out by the purr which emanated from the cryptid, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure throughout your body, practically rendering you a melted mess from his touch. Then, without warning, the appendage entered you in one brisk thrust. 

You cried out in both shock and pleasure as the muscle wiggled its way inside you, the whites of the creature’s eyes prominent as they rolled into the back of his head. The relief you felt was unprecedented, and while you tried to contain your moans, a difficult feat with the heavenly feeling of his thick, lengthy tongue fucking you, you somehow managed; the unrelenting talons hindered the squirming of your hips, forcing them down. The feeling of his ruffled collar brushed against you as he worked, the orange tufts of his hair, firey in the dark, rubbed up against the insides of your thighs, tickling; the overstimulation encouraging your climax. While the clown rapidly moulded the way towards your undoing, you were practically on the brink when he retracted his tongue - as fast as he had previously penetrated you. You whined, the pitiful sound involuntarily leaving your lips from the loss of contact. 

“Such greed for such a small thing,” he tsked, wagging his finger, “so eager.” 

Suddenly, he dragged you by your feet. The movement was headache-inducing when the back of your head slammed against the floor with a sickening thud, no longer resting against the wall. He maneuvered himself on top of you, your groans of pain a cheerful melody to him as he pinned your body underneath his, ignoring your suffering. 

“Oh, Pennywise has found himself such a pretty pet - oh yes he has!” 

He looked down at you when you didn’t reply, his frown returned. One of his hands gripped your hip, the other moved to your face. His thumb rested at your cheekbone and his pinky dug into your chin, while all the other digits fell in places between, their tips prodding and digging into the flesh. 

“Isn’t that right?” He jerked his hips in an unfair movement, his clothed crotch bucking against your bare, needy clit, producing a shout from you. 

“Y-Yes!”

His hand slid down from your face, pleased. The initial relief you felt when his hand moved away, dissipated as his two digits were shoved into your mouth. 

His pointer and middle digit pressed down against the back of your tongue, muffling your cries. He mimicked you, his mouth opened with yours like a sadistic dentist, his fingers the makeshift wooden paddle. 

You’re not even sure how he did it, but in the moments that followed, he had freed his member, and you felt it writhing against your naked thigh. Anxiety gnawed at you from the foreign sensation of his appendage, long and completely alien; a fact that filled you up with excitement and a lingering terror, though the former seemed to take over, the slick area between your thighs trailing down your smooth skin. 

The anticipation was practically killing you.

Hardly a sweetheart, he didn’t bother to ask if you were ready for him - because he didn’t care. All that mattered was his pleasure, and that much was evident when he slammed into you, filling you up as far as he could with what could only be described as a tendril squirming inside you. His hips harshly connected with yours, forcing a cry from your lips. 

“Oh my God-”

A limb, long and lanky, extended from his back, spider-like as it darted towards your throat, holding it while he halted to embrace the feeling of your tight walls. The thing inside you persisted to seize your insides, making itself acquainted with every little centimetre it could, his eyes became heavy and half-lidded, his form giving into pleasure with trails of saliva slipping from his pouting lip. The scream you gave when he entered you was disregarded. Your cunt was completely unprepared for his length, that much was obvious, though the fingers at your hip persisted, tightening. It hauled you closer to him before he started moving again, a purr reverberating in his chest. 

“Poor, hopeless pet,” he grunted as he re-adjusted himself, “still clinging onto the false belief of a God.” 

"To come and save you!” He giggled in a sing-song tone, a brutal drag of his hips rendering you speechless. 

“My dear, there is no such thing. Abandoned and left to rot - I am your God.” 

The initial pain you felt lingered. His size and the feeling of his cock pumping into you was overwhelming, bringing you to the point of tears. They never fell, only building up into misty clouds, obstructing your vision; the blurs of orange, the tainted swirl of pleasure and pain, and the sounds of his noises, his bells, were the only indication he was there with your vision failing. 

His purr twisted into an animalistic growl - primal and vicious, as he worked himself to orgasm, your toes curled in response. The hand at your throat had long since relaxed, clasped there now only as a way to hold onto you, the entity above you was too focused on the feeling of his elation to notice. Trying your best to match his pace, your half-conscious state pushed yourself against him, legs wrapping around his frame. Your body trembled in pure euphoria, under the enchanting spell of how good he felt; it was something you knew no human was capable of, something you knew you’d crave within others, something you knew you’d never get; once pandora’s box was opened, there was no closing it back up. 

“Naughty,” he hummed, aware of all your little movements, conscious of the way you had started to give into him. 

The knot in your abdomen was tightening by the second, the brutal force of his ruts rocked your whole body, hitting you in just the right spots. There was nothing you could do to stop the moans from spilling from your mouth at that point, something that, despite his daze, he chuckled darkly at. 

Your body spasmed underneath him, your senses enhanced while the build-up of pressure had suddenly burst. Ecstasy took the helm as you tightened around his length. The sudden change with which he seemed to have no problem adapting to, lead to his end. By then, there was no way the words that fell from his plump lips were English, his occasional murmurs muttered in a language that sounded as old as time. His voice was deep and powerful, something that felt wrong to listen to - like you weren’t meant to hear it. Any of it. 

You didn’t have much time to dwell on the fact though, as he quickly finished off afterwards. One final roar left his jaws, as great, thick spurts of hot liquid coated your walls. The sound quickly morphed back into a gentle purr when he pulled out of you. The exit of his hot, sticky seed, which trickled to the floor, signified the end of whatever this fever dream was. You shut your eyes.

A few seconds passed and all that was heard were the rough exhales of air shifting from your lungs. With your eyes closed, the puffs filled your ears like a wordless mantra; calming as the weight - a pressure - was lifted off of you. No longer did you feel heavy and drugged; you felt more in control of your actions and your thoughts. You were no longer under his power.

He quickly noticed this and grinned wickedly, pulling away from you, “run along my sweet, tainted human.” 

You blinked, reality slowly starting to set in, the once muted fear, flourishing. You opened your eyes, wide, as they were no longer difficult to hold open.

“I shall see you again soon,” he said, crawling away, long out of sight from where you rushed up into a sitting position. 

“Very soon,” he whispered the last part, low and gravelly, as he receded into the darkness. His eyes were the only thing visible while you scrambled up from the floor, his form shrouded. 

When you ran away, looking back only briefly, you noticed the eyes were gone. There was no more gold in the darkness, just blackness itself. The only thing you had to remember the incident by - hell that it even happened in the first place - were the markings on your body. Curiously, the costume that he had so originally despised had returned, all the damage it endured non-existant. 

You didn’t dwell on it. 

As you hightailed it out of there, you could still hear his haunting cackle echoing in your head on a loop — an eternal record.

.

.

.

.

They say legends were hard to prove; but it was clear now that, that was false. It didn’t matter. 

You knew. 

And because of that, you’d never be the same.


End file.
